


Sleepless

by AnimationNut



Series: Platonic Soulmate AU [4]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: 5+1 Things, Be prepared for lots of cuddling, Blood, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cuddling, Dark Thoughts, Death, Decapitation, Don't copy to another site, Dream death but still death, Families of Choice, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Nightmare, Panic Attack, Platonic Soulmates, Self-Hatred, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Team as Family, Use of the word psycho, Wash has a really gruesome nightmare, Wash is an emotional mess, platonic fluff, platonic soulmate au, split personality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22139446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnimationNut/pseuds/AnimationNut
Summary: Five times Wash's soulmates help him sleep when his emotions become too much, and one time he helps his soulmate.
Relationships: AI Program Epsilon | Leonard Church & Agent Washington, Agent Carolina & Agent Washington (Red vs. Blue), Agent Washington & Franklin Delano Donut & Sarge & Lopez, Dick Simmons & Agent Washington, Frank "Doc" DuFresne & Agent Washington, Kaikaina Grif | Sister & Agent Washington, Michael J. Caboose & Lavernius Tucker & Agent Washington
Series: Platonic Soulmate AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1320512
Comments: 29
Kudos: 105





	1. Sleepless in Valhalla

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Red vs. Blue.
> 
> Listen Washington isn't sure how to deal with affection so he's going to learn by me piling it on him.

Sleep did not come easy to Washington. Not since his assigned A.I. killed itself inside of his head only seconds after implantation. The manipulation of the Director and the betrayal of his fellow Freelancers compounded that trauma. Losing North and York had killed him, emotionally, and he thought his soul had died with them.

But within the first few weeks of his new life in Valhalla, something happened that he had never expected. Two handprints bloomed to life on his skin, a stark contrast against the burnt black marks that once belonged to North and York. Whatever Wash had been anticipating after becoming Blue Team’s new commander, exchanging soulmarks with Caboose and Tucker wasn’t on his list. It wasn’t even something he considered being in the realm of possibility.

To say he had been emotionally distraught after each exchange would be a generous way of phrasing how he had reacted. Especially considering he had received Tucker’s soulmark in the midst of a furious, volatile argument.

Sitting in the doorway of Blue Base, the permanently-sunny sky stretching endlessly above him, Wash grimaced as his mind unbiddenly replayed his breakdowns. He hadn’t known a soul could weep but it turned out it could.

The tips of his ears turned red as humiliation welled within him at the memory and it took him a minute to remember to put up a barrier to block Caboose and Tucker from experiencing his emotions. The two of them called it being soul-linked to one another and Washington didn’t quite know how to deal with it.

He was used to being in control. Used to keeping his secrets under lock and key in the far, dusty corners of his heart. He was extremely uncomfortable having his deepest feelings available to his new soulmates twenty-four/seven. It was different and foreign and not something that had occurred once his soul-connection had been established with North and York.

The very thought of them caused pain to wrench his heart and he took a hard breath as an old and familiar agony sank its talons into his chest.

_Don’t go there. Don’t think about them._

He dug the heels of his hands against his eyes. The breeze was cool against his skin, goosebumps prickling along his flesh. His nerves twitched with unease for being without his armour, but it was one of those nights where being in an enclosed space made him feel like he was going to suffocate.

Strange, really, how his armour could be a tool to either cripple him or empower him.

At least he didn’t have to worry about enemy fire. The only other ones in the canyon were the Reds and judging by the colours marking Caboose and Tucker’s bodies, he knew they weren’t in any danger of a serious attack.

He focussed on his breathing, trying to loosen the tightly-wound knot in his stomach. Footsteps sounded behind him and he whirled around, rising to his knees and his fingers flying for the knife in the waistband of his sweatpants. Tucker paused a distance away, his posture sleepy but his dark eyes alert as he regarded Wash’s actions warily.

“Not again,” he grumbled. “Seriously, dude, who else would it be?”

“Sorry. Instinct,” muttered Wash, lowering his hand. Ire rose in him and he wanted to snap at them for continuing to approach him without warning. But he swallowed the barbed words, knowing it wasn’t their fault, that they were behaving normally and he wasn’t. “What are you doing up?”

“It’s hard to sleep when I can feel you drowning in anxiety.”

Wash furrowed his brow in confusion. “I tried blocking you from it.”

“If that’s your idea of an emotional barrier it needs some serious work.”

“Why are you sad?” asked Caboose. He stood beside Tucker, his curly hair sticking up at all angles, and stared at Wash with mournful brown eyes.

“I’m not sad,” said Wash sharply.

“Yes, you are,” said Tucker with a snort.

Clearly his barrier was rubbish, because their concern churned through him and Wash felt his heart stutter from their care. He carted his fingers through his blonde hair and his jaw tightened. “It’s just one of those nights.”

“You have a lot of them,” remarked Caboose.

Wash smiled bitterly. “I guess I do. I didn’t mean to wake you. You can go back to bed. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah right,” muttered Tucker. “You haven’t slept since you got here.”

“I have,” defended Wash. “The first few weeks I slept okay.”

“If you count four hours of sleep a night as ‘okay’, sure,” said Tucker snidely.

“Why won’t you tell us what’s wrong?” asked Caboose quietly. “We can help.”

“You can’t,” said Wash grimly. “Trust me.”

He turned to face the grass, which was drenched in the golden light. His blue eyes were haunted by ghosts only he could see. Tucker exchanged a glance with Caboose and motioned him forwards. They settled on either side of the ex-Freelancer and Tucker wrapped his arms around his knees.

“It’s us, isn’t it?” he asked knowingly. “It’s about us being your soulmates.”

“But I thought you liked having us as your Best Friends,” said Caboose with a wounded expression.

“I do!” said Washington quickly, hating the hurt that shone in Caboose’s bright brown eyes. “It’s…it’s complicated.”

But it wasn’t. Not really. He was terrified to have soulmates again, of having to once again go through the agony of losing them to death. He was aware of the unfilled handprints on his body, ones that he thought for so long would remain empty. He knew now, without a doubt, that the Reds and Blues were his soulmates, and he didn’t know if he could handle it.

His fear and confliction flowed through their soul-link and Tucker flinched against it. “You gotta work with us, man,” he said, more pleading than exasperated. “I know you’re not used to this but you can’t avoid us. It hurts us just as much as it hurts you.”

Wash could feel his soul trembling, feel it ache. It had wanted to soul-bond with them for days but Wash fought against the instincts, because he couldn’t deal with the intensity, couldn’t confront the fact that he _needed_ to bond with them.

“We could cuddle,” said Caboose earnestly. “Then it won’t hurt anymore!”

Tucker shot him a glare. “It’s soul-bonding.”

“That’s what I said.”

“I don’t think—” began Wash, but Tucker interrupted him.

“Please.”

The softness of his voice and the hopeful shine to Caboose’s eyes caused Washington to relent, if only because he knew that Tucker was right and his distance was causing them pain and distress. He had no right to put them through that, no matter how uncomfortable and, admittedly, scared he was of their new and powerful bond.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

Relief flooded through him and Caboose beamed. “Yay! We can do it in my room!”

“Watch your phrasing, dude,” snapped Tucker as they climbed to their feet. “We can only handle one Donut.”

Washington trailed behind the pair as they entered their base and went down the short, narrow hall to Caboose’s room. Wash frowned sharply at the clothes haphazardly strewn across the floor. “Didn’t I tell you to put these away?”

“Maybe. I don’t remember,” answered Caboose.

When Wash opened his mouth to rebuke Caboose further, Tucker grabbed his arm and said, “Whine about it later. I’m freaking tired.”

The mattress sagged beneath their weight and in the small space they were pressed tightly together. Washington was closed in, his body pressed between Caboose and Tucker, and his anxiety skyrocketed. His body jerked upwards, the need to flee overwhelming. Tucker’s hand smoothed over the aqua handprint on his right shoulder and Caboose set his hand against Wash’s left hip. A sleepiness that was not his own caressed Washington, along with a gentle warmth and reassurance. He crumpled back against the pillows with a soft, strangled whine.

His confliction and his fear crashed over Tucker and Caboose like a storm, crackling and torrential. Tucker grit his teeth against the negativity, unable to tell if Wash had improved since their first soul-bond or if he had gotten worse.

_‘I wouldn’t go so far to say that I’ve improved.’_

Tucker felt a flash of embarrassment. _‘Sorry.’_

_‘It’s okay. It’s just been a rough time.’_

_‘No,’_ thought Tucker with heavy sarcasm. _‘I couldn’t tell by your complete avoidance of us and your horrid sleep schedule.’_

Caboose rested his chin against the top of Washington’s head. _‘You’re scared. You won’t lose us.’_

His confidence met with the ridges of Washington’s anxiety and was repulsed by sudden, bright anger. _‘Don’t say what you can’t mean.’_

_‘Caboose always says what he means,’_ returned Tucker flatly. _‘Even if we have no freaking clue as to what he’s trying to say.’_

_‘We are Best Friends. We are supposed to be together.’_

Washington’s bitterness rolled over them as he thought of North and York, and a heartache so strong caused Tucker and Caboose’s souls to tremble. Tucker let his forehead fall against Washington’s. _‘I wish they were still with you. I wish your team didn’t implode and backstab one another. But as difficult as it may be for you to believe, we’re not going to kill each other.’_ He paused for a moment before adding jokingly, _‘So long as we’re able to keep avoiding Sarge’s insane attack plans, anyway. He’s pretty trigger-happy.’_

_‘You don’t understand.’_

And they didn’t. The excruciating pain of losing a soulmate was not something that could be shared during a soul-bond. They could only feel how deeply it affected him. It was the one thing his soul kept secret and for that Washington was grateful. He didn’t want them to have any idea of what he had gone through when York and North’s hearts stopped beating.

He didn’t want to go through it again. And with full knowledge of the colours yet to appear on his skin and who they belonged to he knew the odds weren’t in his favour.

_‘Why worry about what might not happen?’_ asked Caboose curiously.

His insight caused Washington some pause and Tucker’s amusement flowed through him, smoothing out more of his harsh emotional edges. _‘Yeah. Don’t get used to it. He’s only smart once in a blue moon.’_

_‘Moons are not blue and I am smart all the time,’_ thought Caboose with an annoyed huff. _‘Stupid Tucker.’_

_‘I’m just really great at worrying, Caboose,’_ thought Washington wearily.

_‘Well, knock it off,’_ countered Tucker. _‘Your stress is giving me a headache. I can only imagine what it’s doing to you.’_

_‘Yeah. I’ll get right on that,’_ deadpanned Wash.

All of his negativity poured from his soul and Tucker and Caboose met it with resilience and patience. Immense gratitude consumed Wash and he didn’t deserve them—

_‘Stop being mean to yourself,’_ though Caboose, and the hold he had on Wash’s waist tightened. _‘It’s not very nice.’_

_‘You’re just one big bundle of trauma and self-deprecation, aren’t you?’_ thought Tucker with a rush of exasperation.

But Wash could not respond, for his soul was humming with contentment and his muscles finally relaxed as the tension oozed out of him. He melted into the pillows, blue eyes falling shut, weighed down with exhaustion but his heart felt oddly light. The negativity had been purged and the intensity of their soul-bond, one he was still not used to, lulled him to sleep.

_‘We did it!’_

_‘Shut up,’_ thought Tucker, not unkindly, and he lightly ruffled Caboose’s dark curls. _‘Go to sleep. Snore and I’ll stab you.’_

_‘Okay!’_

…

When Washington awoke the next morning, it was with heavy limbs and a decrease in alertness he wasn’t accustomed to. He slowly sat up and rubbed the back of his neck, flushing slightly as he recalled the method his two slumbering soulmates had utilized to help him sleep.

He still didn’t know how to feel about their soul-connection. It was strong and overpowering and completely different from his soulmate experience with North and York. It required a closeness he wasn’t sure he would ever be good at and an intimacy he wasn’t sure he would ever be fully comfortable with.

But he did know one thing.

Watching them sleep, Tucker hanging partly off the bed with an arm thrown over his face and Caboose splayed out, his leg thrown over Wash’s, affection stirred in a heart he had thought to be long since dead and cold.

He would do whatever he needed to protect them.

He wasn’t losing another soulmate.

He _wasn’t_.


	2. Sleepless in Crash Site Bravo

Caboose’s rumbling snores echoed off the metal walls of their make-shift camp. Washington thought he could almost feel the vibrations resulting from his far-too-loud snoring, but it might have been the constant buzzing of his nerves. Blue eyes stared steadily at the ceiling, his ears expertly tuning out Caboose and listening intently to the breathing patterns of Tucker and Simmons. When he determined that they were in a deep slumber, he rose from his small cot of sandbags and moved soundlessly across the floor.

He paused in the opening of half of the crashed UNSC ship and sent a wary glance towards Freckles. The Mantis-class military assault droid stood directly below the entrance to their base. The first (and only) time Freckles had been left active for the night, Wash had nearly gotten several bullets to the chest, and Caboose came running out after ten minutes of him dodging and screaming to calm his ‘pet’ down.

Given his streak of restless nights, Wash didn’t want to have to battle with the droid every time he left for a walk. It took a while, but eventually he managed to convince Caboose to power Freckles down for the evenings. When it came time for Caboose to turn him off, Wash stood over his shoulder and watched to ensure the young man was doing it correctly.

And he usually didn’t, resulting in Washington guiding him through the process night after night.

Wash went down the ramp and passed the still droid. He began his evening routine, looping around the perimeter of the canyon in search of any possible threats. He did the loop a few times, but like every night before, there was nothing wrong and nothing out of place.

Well, nothing outside of their totaled shipwreck and the fifty or so bodies that were now buried beneath their feet, anyway. The rest of the victims had been blown apart and disintegrated by the explosion resulting from the crash, so there wasn’t much to recover.

Wash’s heart seized in his chest, a chill shivering down his spine, as he let his mind wander to just how close they had all been to certain death. It was nothing short of a miracle that he and his soulmates survived when everyone else did not.

It was all his fault.

Anger roared in his chest at his idiocy. He hadn’t been paying attention. And when he didn’t pay attention, he got clumsy. He was the reason why the ship had crashed. He was the reason why they were stranded in this forsaken canyon.

He had almost killed his soulmates.

The dark thoughts formed like black clouds in his mind. Wash whirled around, slamming his armoured fist against the canyon wall. A small crater formed at the impact and his hand immediately started to throb. Wash flexed his fingers with a hard breath, taking a second to confirm that nothing was broken.

The sharp, shooting pain in his wrist and knuckles didn’t do anything to distract him from delving deeper into his frantic, spiralling thought cycle.

_I almost killed them._

_What if I didn’t get them anchored down in time?_

_I almost killed them._

_What if the ship crashed differently?_

_What if I survived and they didn’t?_

That was something he wouldn’t have been able to bear. If he had been the only survivor, well, he wouldn’t have been a survivor for long.

Wash grit his teeth against the haunting thoughts and tried to ignore them. He finished up his patrol by going over to Red Base, a humble dwelling that Sarge insisted he create at the opposite end of the canyon. He moved silently through the space, ensuring that the other Reds were safe and accounted for. Grif and Sarge were fast asleep. Lopez 2.0, named so because Sarge thought it would be funny and not as an actual replacement for Lopez, slept standing in the corner.

Wash returned outside, where the air was still and insects chirped, creating intermingling melodies that were more irritating than soothing. He walked through the canyon and was halfway to his base when he spotted a shadowy figure coming towards him.

He whipped his gun upwards and barked, “ _Halt! You’ve got five seconds to identify yourself before I shoot!”_

The figure froze with one maroon-coloured leg hanging just outside the stretch of shadows. Simmons gave a strangled squawk and put his hands high in the air. “It’s me!”

Wash quickly lowered his weapon. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” he snapped.

“I was coming right at you!” countered Simmons. He came fully into view, lowering his arms and letting them dangle at his sides. “I wasn’t even trying to be sneaky.”

That wasn’t something Washington could argue. “Right. Sorry. I wasn’t really expecting anyone else to be out here.”

“Is that why you patrol this place a thousand times a night?” asked Simmons dryly. “Searching for no one?”

“There’s something not right about this place,” said Wash. There was an uncomfortable pinch in his gut, one that signalled that something was wrong. “I don’t know what it is. It makes me uneasy.”

“Yeah. We’re stranded and we’ll probably starve to death. Kind of hard not to be uneasy about that.”

Wash raised a brow. “Donut is sending help. Something I recall you were very excited about.”

Simmons shrugged. “That was then. Now I’m tired and moody and my teammates can be stupid assholes, so, you know, I’m in low levels of excitement right now.”

“Still mad at Grif?”

“Have you seen his half of that place?” asked Simmons with a shudder. “It’s disgusting. It violates every health code in existence. I refuse to live in that slop.”

His posture was tense and hunched and Wash carefully lowered his emotional barrier. Simmons’ agitation flowed through him, spiky and sharp, but beneath his grudge was despondency and wistfulness.

“Do you want to talk to him?” asked Wash cautiously.

“No,” said Simmons quickly. He paused for a moment before saying in a softer tone, “Not right now. I’m still pissed with him.”

“As you usually are,” said Wash lightly.

“Well, more so than normal.” Simmons cast a glance over his shoulder and asked, “Do you want to head back now? Or do you want to keep up your search for no one?”

Wash narrowed his eyes. “I can kick you out of our base whenever I want, you know.”

“No you can’t,” said Simmons with a snicker. “Caboose is in charge now. And if I leave, Freckles will hunt me down and execute me. No thanks. I’ll just wait for this crap storm to pass.”

“You’re gonna be waiting a bit longer,” Wash muttered under his breath. Fixing Caboose’s helmet was taking far more time than he initially thought it would. “All right. Let’s head back.”

He fell into step beside Simmons and together they went towards Blue Base. “Seriously, I don’t think anyone is going to attack us here,” spoke Simmons.

Wash knew Simmons’ attempt at comfort was due to his stress trickling through their soul-link. “It’s not just that.”

“What else is there? I mean, I know I said I lost faith, but Donut will get here eventually. It’s just a matter of when and how often he’s distracted on the way here.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Simmons sent him a glance. “If _you’re_ worrying about it, whatever _it_ is, that means I should _definitely_ be worrying.”

Wash could not help but smile. “It doesn’t take much to stress me out. Sometimes I can’t turn my brain off and it makes sleep difficult.”

“Man, do I feel that.”

They got closer to Blue Base and Wash paused as a loud, mechanical buzzing reached his ears. He thrust out an arm to bring Simmons to a halt. “What is that sound?” he hissed, even though he already knew the answer.

Simmons, also identifying the sound, gasped in horror. “No!”

They bent low to the ground and crept through the shadows. They took cover in a section of bushes and peered through the foliage. A distance away they could see Freckles moving back and forth in front of the wrecked transport.

“That moron turned it on!” said Simmons furiously. “I could have sworn he was still sleeping when I came to find you!”

As Tucker and Caboose both insisted on sleeping without their armour, Wash had no way to contact them. “Damn! He and I are having _such_ a conversation tomorrow morning,” he growled. “How the hell can he have so much trouble turning him off but not have a problem turning him on?”

“He’s probably playing you.”

“Do _not_ insult me.”

They hastily retreated before Freckles could spot them and stopped near the creek that cut through the canyon. Simmons sat in the grass and started pulling off his armour. “That’s not a good idea,” said Wash firmly.

His helmet in his hands, Simmons turned bright green eyes to the ex-Freelancer. “Right. No One might take a shot at us,” he said blankly.

“We still don’t know where we are. Who knows what inhabits this planet?”

“Us. The others. Sarge isn’t going to kill me and Grif is too lazy. And if I had to choose between getting shot by a mysterious assailant or Freckles, I’ll take the assailant. It would be way less humiliating.”

Simmons snapped off the last of his armour and shoved the maroon pieces off to the side so he could spread out against the grass. When Wash stood stiffly above him, Simmons gave an exasperated sigh. “We can’t go back until morning, when Caboose is awake and we can kick his ass. I’m not staying up all night and I’m not sleeping in my armour.”

“You’re a sitting duck out here.”

“I’ll take my chances,” said Simmons with a roll of his eyes. “Before I left, Grif made a decent point, for once. Why are we walking around in armour and holding our guns when we’re not fighting anyone?”

Wash had a moment of internal debate before slowly peeling off his own armour. Simmons, and he supposed Grif as well, weren’t wrong. They had spent days in this canyon and not a single soul had made itself known.

With a dramatic intake of breath, Simmons said, “It’s a miracle.”

“Shut up.” Wash took off his helmet last and, as he stretched out beside Simmons, he set it by his feet. “It’s been a while since I’ve been out of it. I’m due for a breather.”

“How do you sleep in that thing?”

“Years of practice.” Wash ran his fingers through his short blonde hair, flinching slightly at the build-up of grease he encountered. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

“You didn’t. I can only sleep through Caboose’s snoring for so long. I woke up just as you were leaving.”

“You didn’t have to follow me.”

Simmons shrugged. “I needed some air. And I figured I should make sure that you weren’t having one of your emotional moments.”

Wash gave a snort. “Not quite the term I would use to describe my episodes.”

“Seriously, are you okay?” Simmons shifted awkwardly, plucking up strands of grass with his fingers. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Considering the amount of stress he was currently experiencing Wash knew it was pointless to lie. “No, I’m not okay.”

The moonlight cast a silver light on the dark bags beneath Washington’s eyes. Simmons eyed him for a moment before slowly extending his hand, hope and earnestness swelling through their soul-link. Wash was uncertain for a moment, but when Simmons started to retract his hand with a wounded expression Wash leaned forwards and set his hand on Simmons’ left elbow.

His soul surged at the instigation and Simmons immediately responded, placing his hand over his soulmark on Wash’s bicep. He furrowed his brow at the amount of tension and worry tightening his chest. He could feel the weight of the burden Washington felt, his determination to keep them all safe, and tremendous guilt encompassed his heart. Simmons searched through his soul and watched the most recent memory that had been causing Wash so much grief.

Shock and surprise rushed through him and Washington flinched. _‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t—’_

_‘I thought it was all my fault!’_

Simmons’ bewilderment and relief eased the burn of his guilt. Confused, Washington moved through his soul. The unexpected revelation brought him a bit of clarity and he was able to detect Simmons’ own guilt and embarrassment, a mere pulse compared to his own stormy vortex. He found the memory the redhead was referring to and disbelief rose in him.

_‘Seriously?’_

_‘Upgrades usually make things better. Not crash entire systems,’_ thought Simmons sheepishly. _‘I guess you knocking out a power cord combined with my utter screw-up.’_

_‘What are the odds?’_

_‘I know!’_

The guilt lessened dramatically, because he was not the sole cause of the crash and somehow that made it that much better. But his fears, those pesky, ever-present fears, still lingered and Simmons lightly squeezed his bicep.

_‘We’re alive. Because of you. You and Carolina were bad-ass.’_

For a moment they waded in the memory of the crash. Carolina and Wash, working in tandem, frantically collecting the Reds and Blues and getting them to anchor, strap and hook themselves to whatever was available. The panic and adrenaline that charged through their veins, the terrified screaming and the ear-splitting shrieking as the ship descended and then tore in half.

And when it was all over, the smoke still curling through the air, seven bodies and an A.I. tumbled out of the wreckage.

Simmons’ gratitude swelled and Wash smiled weakly. _‘Well, considering I partly caused the accident, it was the least I could do.’_

_‘More than I did,’_ quipped Simmons.

_‘No, your screaming really helped.’_

_‘Thanks. I try.’_

Contentment blanketed them and Wash gave a quiet sigh, relaxing into Simmons’ hold. The guilt about his role in the accident was no longer consuming and he knew that Simmons felt the same. Somehow, knowing they were both at fault and able to share the blame made tolerating their grievous mistakes easier.

As the emotions ebbed, Simmons felt an undercurrent of sadness and longing. _‘I miss them too,’_ he thought softly. _‘Why do you think they left?’_

Though he was a bit irked with Carolina for leaving without a word, he could not help the fondness that washed over him. _‘I don’t know. But I’m sure it was important. They’ll be back. Eventually.’_

_‘Well, if they don’t, they’re gonna miss the rescue ship and be stuck in this place. Sucks to be them.’_

Wash grinned. _‘Yeah, sucks to be them._ ’

Simmons rested his head against Wash’s chest and a deep warmth enveloped both of them. Wash closed his eyes and set his fingers in Simmons’ hair, lightly pulling on the red strands. _‘Thanks, Dick.’_

_‘I didn’t really do anything, but I’ll take the credit anyway. A trick from Grif’s book.’_

_‘You really should talk to him.’_

_‘Don’t ruin the moment.’_

With their souls humming with happiness and satisfaction, their exhaustion won over, and Wash fell asleep to the sound of the churning creek, scents of apples and spice, and the sensation of Simmons’ soul still tangled with his.

…

“Rise and shine, Nancy 1 and Nancy 2.”

The gruff voice intruded Washington’s slumber and he snapped upwards, instinctively rolling his body over Simmons’ protectively. Blue eyes met a familiar visor and Wash slumped to the grass, rubbing at his chest.

“Don’t _do_ that!”

“Your fault for sleepin’ out in the open,” countered Sarge. “I coulda shot ya.”

Wash rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I’m sure it took you a lot of restraint.”

Their voices broke through his sleepy fog and Simmons sat up with a yawn. “What time is it?”

“Past ass-kick o’clock.”

Simmons recoiled at the sight of Sarge, cheeks flaming a dark red. “Sir!” he spluttered. “Uh, good morning!”

“Go talk to Grif,” ordered Sarge bluntly.

Simmons hesitated. “I don’t know—”

“If ya would lower your barrier for a second, you’d feel that he’s a damn emotional mess. I’m sick of his mopin’.”

“But you’re not sick of the physical mess.”

Sarge’s eyes narrowed. “You sassin’ me, boy?”

“No sir!”

“Go.”

“I don’t know if I can handle two intense soul-bonds in the span of twenty-four hours,” said Simmons, his body still heavy with fatigue.

_“Go.”_

The shotgun rose and Wash didn’t even blink at the bullet that lodged near Simmons’ feet. The redhead yelped and took off running for Red Base, needing no further urging. Wash shook his head and started to shrug on his armour.

“If I go back without him, Freckles is probably going to come execute him.”

“I can’t believe you’re letting Caboose keep that thing.”

“If you want to try and deactivate Freckles, by all means, give it a try,” drawled Wash. “On the slim chance that you’re successful, you’ll just have to live with the fact that Caboose would never forgive you.”

It was a cheap shot, since he knew Sarge had a soft spot for Caboose, but he didn’t care and it had the desired effect.

“Er...you know what, just wait here. I’ll send Simmons over when he’s ready.”


	3. Sleepless in the Federal Army

When Donut arrived in the room he shared with his soulmates, he was immediately greeted with a piercing glare from Washington, whose fingers tapped an anxious rhythm against his hard, plastic lunch tray. “You’re late,” he snapped.

“I’m sorry,” said Donut, yanking off his helmet and setting it on his cot. “I lost track of time.”

“Really?” asked Wash, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I suppose the date and time function on your visor display can be easy to overlook.”

Donut gave him an apologetic smile as he grasped the extra lunch tray Sarge had brought over. “Thanks for bringing me food.”

“Ya owe me five fifty,” said Sarge, eyeing the blonde as he sat next to him.

“We don’t pay for our food in the mess hall,” said Donut with a furrowed brow.

“Ya still owe me five fifty.”

“Do you accept bullets as currency?”

“If we can get back on topic,” interjected Wash, shooting Sarge a knowing scowl, “I would appreciate it if you would tell us _why_ you’re late.”

“Um…” Donut glanced desperately at the Southern man, who shrugged.

“Distraction didn’t work. You’re on your own.”

When Donut swivelled pleading ice blue eyes to Lopez, the robot gave a scoff. **“What do you want me to do? You’re the one who wandered off. Again.”**

“Donut,” growled Wash.

“Caruthers needed some help moving supply crates to the storage facility,” muttered Donut, poking at his mashed potatoes with his fork.

“You went to the other side of the compound, the most isolated part of the compound, I might add, by yourself?” demanded Wash.

“Not really by myself.”

Wash’s shoulders tightened and he stood up, and his food would have ended up splattered over the concrete floor if it weren’t for Lopez’s quick reflexes. Wash paid him no mind, his eyes blazing with anger and focussed on Donut.

“You know what I mean. Whenever you need to go out of the main complex, one of us goes with you. That was the rule we agreed on. That was the rule _you_ agreed on. And you’re the only one who has yet to follow it!”

Donut flinched at the frustration that rolled through their soul-link, heightened by anxiety and worry. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, blue eyes glimmering with guilt. “He just seemed like he really needed help. He couldn’t lift them. And if someone needs help getting it up, it’s my duty to help them.”

There was genuine remorse in his expression and Wash let out a weary sigh, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling the muscles and joints pinched together with stress.

Every time Donut left his line of sight, it was always to help someone. It was Donut’s natural instinct, and as far as Wash was concerned that made him a far better person than he was. But it was a quality that could be manipulated. Considering they had been forced from their shipwreck site, separated from the rest of their soulmates, and now had to participate in a war they wanted no part of in the hopes of reuniting, Wash felt he wasn’t being paranoid in assuming there was danger in every corner.

“We don’t know these people, Franklin,” said Wash quietly. “We can’t just go off with them whenever they ask.”

“Ya do it all the time,” said Sarge bluntly.

“I have the skills and instincts needed to defend myself,” retorted Wash.

Sarge made a noise of offense, his utensil lowering as his chin lifted so he could glare indigently at Wash. “I may not have a fancy Freelancer background, but that didn’t seem to help ya against Locus when he came after us.”

**“Damn. He actually has a point,”** said Lopez. **“That doesn’t happen often.”**

“Touché,” said Wash grudgingly. “But if that was your attempt to help Donut’s case you picked the wrong argument. I don’t want to be anywhere near that man. I definitely don’t want any of you near him without me.”

The thought of the mercenary nearly put a snarl on his face, but he fought it back. Locus seemed to be keeping to his word and hadn’t approached Washington, Sarge, Donut or Lopez since Dr. Grey told him off. But he wouldn’t keep his distance for long and Wash knew their next interaction would be even more unpleasant than the other ones they’ve had.

And that was saying something.

“Just keep to the rules, all right?” finished Wash in slight exasperation. “Be punctual for our meetings in the mess hall and for curfew. Stay in pairs if you can, especially if you need to go outside the main complex. And above all else—”

“Don’t let them see us without armour,” finished Sarge and Donut in unison.

“Right.” Wash gave a curt nod. “The last thing I want is for Locus to discover that we’re all soulmates. I don’t trust that guy.”

“I couldn’t tell,” drawled Sarge.

**“I think it’s too late for that,”** said Lopez dryly as he handed Wash his tray, the meal still intact despite being flung off the man’s lap.

Wash usually couldn’t understand Lopez outside of a soul-bond, but he had a good guess as to what the robot was trying to communicate. His brown body was covered in coloured codes and he often received several curious glances. Many have asked what they symbolized.

Sarge’s answer was the same each time. Simmons and Grif had decided to pull a prank and the paint just wouldn’t scrub off. It was a lie that was accepted without question, and in this case, Wash wasn’t worried about Locus connecting the dots. He was incapable of doing so. As far as he was concerned, they were fools for assigning meaning to mechanical beings.

“In Locus’ world, it’s impossible for a robot to be a soulmate, so you haven’t exposed our secret.” Washington cracked a small smile as he added, “After all, you’re just a collection of metal and wires. Easily replaceable.”

“I can have Lopez 3.0 constructed in case you fall in battle,” said Sarge with a straight face.

**“Can you make him now?”** countered Lopez. **“Then I wouldn’t have a reason to be here and I can leave.”**

“Of course you’d still have a reason to be here,” chirped Donut. “Two robots mean two mechanics!”

**“I’m baffled by just how inconsistent you are when it comes to understanding Spanish.”**

“Hot dog, two mechanics! Think of all the vehicles we can destroy for them to fix,” said Sarge dreamily.

**“I hate you.”**

Their familiar bickering caused Washington’s posture to soften and he sunk back down to his cot. He nibbled at his toast and beans, his other hand idly tracing the pink handprint on his cheek, his newest soulmark. He let their chatter become background noise as he tuned in to his bonds.

Caboose, as he usually was, was cheerfully oblivious to what was happening around him. He was happy and for that Wash was grateful. Tucker, Simmons and Grif were a lot more stressed, but other than that they were fine. Doc was more confused than anything else. Carolina was concerned and purposeful, and though Wash couldn’t begin to imagine what she was up to, it was something important, and he knew she wouldn’t come in search of them unless it was absolutely necessary.

She believed in him and his abilities.

So did he. He had to, if he was going to get them all out alive. And he would.

There was simply no other option.

…

They were going to be moved again.

At dawn the next morning the four would be shipped to yet another mountain range compound, escorted by a heavy guard. Even though they had been with the Federal Army of Chorus for a few weeks, no one could give them a solid answer as to why they were being shifted around so much.

Not even General Doyle knew. He merely said that Locus thought it was for the best and left it at that.

The knowledge of Locus being behind their constant relocation caused Washington’s hackles to rise. But he refused to confront the mercenary about it. He doubted Locus would tell him the truth, and even if he did, Washington knew he wouldn’t like his reasoning.

Every time they had to move locations, he got more and more agitated. In the hours leading up to their departure he refused to let Sarge, Lopez and Donut out of his sight. The second their daily duties were done they were to report to their room to regroup, and then whatever extra tasks needed doing, they did them together.

When night came, he didn’t sleep.

He sat on the edge of his bed in full armour, his gun trained steadily at the closed door. It was a position he held every evening since they were taken by the Federal Army of Chorus. Or almost every evening. A week ago, when the ache of losing Simmons, Grif, Tucker and Caboose had been too much to bear and the walls felt like they were closing in on him, he escaped outside. Donut had come looking for him, their conversation resulting in a soul-connection, and was also the only night in the span of three weeks in which he got some proper sleep.

There was the creaking of a cot and Wash shifted his head slightly. Across the room Sarge sat up, his grey eyes cutting through the darkness, and he regarded Wash with a deep frown. “Ya can’t keep doin’ this.”

“Go back to sleep,” said Wash softly, returning his attention to the door.

“Ya need sleep more than I do, son.”

A humourless smile graced Wash’s features, though his visor prevented Sarge from seeing it. “We’ve been over this. Besides, I’ve gone much longer without sleep, Sarge. This is nothing.”

“If that was supposed to make me feel better, it was a horrible attempt.”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s a load of bull.”

The stress flowing from Washington was far from unusual. He’d been tightly wound for the past few weeks and the others had gotten used to the anxiety fluctuating through their soul-links. But tonight, there was more than just stress and anxiety that plagued him. He was forlorn. He was sad. He was scared. It crackled through their soul-links like a hurricane.

Sarge was troubled, upset by his refusal to care properly for himself and Wash grimaced. He would have put up an emotional barrier to keep his feelings private, but that would mean blocking off Simmons, Caboose, Tucker, Grif, Carolina and Doc, and that was the last thing he wanted, especially when they were so far from him.

“Please, Sarge, just go back to sleep.”

“No.”

Sarge stood and reached up to the top bunk, giving Donut’s leg one sharp pull. “Franklin.”

It was the use of his first name more so than the jab that spurred him from slumber. “What’s wrong?” he asked with a yawn. It took a second for him to process the emotions flowing through him and he said, “Oh, never mind.”

Wash scowled. “You shouldn’t have woken him up!”

“Wash needs to sleep,” said Sarge, ignoring the ex-Freelancer. “And ya know what that means.”

“Okie-dokie!”

“Lopez! Up and at ‘em.”

There was a soft whirr as Lopez powered up and his head turned to stare at Wash. **“It’s a miracle you haven’t died from sleep deprivation.”**

“We can’t,” said Wash frantically, panic bubbling in his chest. “They have the master card. They can unlock this door whenever they want. What if they decide to check on us? What if they decide to move us out earlier? I’m not having them catch us in a soul-bond.”

He didn’t want them to have that information. As much as it hurt to go without bonding with them for so long, he wasn’t going to risk it.

Lopez strode across the floor and opened the door, and Wash opened his mouth to protest. But before he could utter a word Lopez slammed his metal fist into the card scanner on the other side and swiftly retreated back into the room as the door squealed shut with a prolonged, angry beep. The locks clicked into place and Lopez said, **“There. Fixed.”**

“Whoa, that was bad-ass,” said Donut with a grin.

Sarge stared at Wash patiently, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. Wash knew he was waiting for his permission, waiting to be sure he was comfortable with what they wanted, to be sure it was what _he_ wanted, and a lump grew in his throat.

God, how he loved them.

He stood up and removed his armour, setting the pieces at the end of his bed. He lowered onto the thin mattress and Donut and Sarge settled on either side of him. When Lopez remained by the door, Sarge said gruffly, “Lopez, get over here.”

Lopez moved close enough to set his hand against his soulmark on Sarge’s stomach. _‘I weigh significantly more than this bed can tolerate.’_

“Nonsense.”

Lopez shrugged and curled behind the man, carefully putting one leg overtop Sarge’s. The second he was fully sprawled out on the mattress the bed frame gave a loud screech and crumpled, bringing them to the floor with a jolt.

“Wow, Lopez, I didn’t know you could be so rough,” said Donut with a laugh as Wash wheezed in surprise and Sarge gave a startled grunt. He tucked himself against Washington’s side and lightly set his hand against Wash’s cheek.

As their souls linked together there was a strong, pleasant surge and Wash closed his eyes against the pulse that vibrated through him. Warmth and affection eased the sting of his worries and fears and Wash tried to concentrate on it.

_‘It’s not your job to protect us,’_ thought Lopez, easily pinpointing Washington’s primary concern.

_‘Yes it is.’_

_‘I thought we’ve been over this,’_ thought Donut with a slight pout. _‘We take care of each other. You don’t always have to worry about us.’_

_‘I’m always going to worry.’_

_‘You know we’ll get the others back.’_ Sarge smoothed his thumb over his red print on Wash’s wrist. _‘We ain’t gonna rest until we do.’_

_‘But I thought you wanted me to rest.’_

_‘Oh-ho. Agent Washington has jokes.’_

_‘I’m quite funny.’_

_‘When you’re not being angsty,’_ quipped Lopez.

It wasn’t a slight against his wobbly emotional state and Wash made a sound that should have been indigent but came out content due to the swell of fuzzy electricity humming through his chest. _‘I only have two moods.’_

_‘Yeah, angsty and hard-ass,’_ snickered Sarge.

_‘I thought you were going to try and comfort me.’_

_‘We are! And you are feeling much better,’_ thought Donut happily.

He did. The stress and worry had been consumed by their love and fondness. Wash sagged against the pillow, his head falling to rest against Sarge’s shoulder. His fingers stroked a gentle pattern into Donut’s forearm and he made a noise in the back of his throat at the motion.

_‘You’re purring again,’_ thought Lopez in amusement.

_‘I do not purr!’_ returned Donut with a mental whine.

Entangled in their arms, Washington thought of Simmons, Grif, Tucker and Caboose, who should have been there with them. Sudden ferocity charged through him, a righteous anger, and an all-consuming need to have them by his side caused his vision to blur slightly.

_‘Once we’re in the mountain range, we’re making our move. We’re getting back to them.’_

_‘About time,’_ thought Sarge earnestly.

_‘If we have to,’_ thought Lopez, his flippancy ruined by the tenderness that brimmed from his soul.

_‘Oh boy! It’s like a spy mission! Double-0 Donut is back in action!’_

An unyielding determination charged through them, to defy the assurances Doyle had fed them and go off on their own to save their soulmates. It would be dangerous, and a risk Wash hadn’t wanted to take, but it was because he didn’t want to put them in any more danger than they were already in.

But they were right.

He couldn’t bear the sole responsibility of protecting them. They were a team. They did stuff together. It’s why they had succeeded in bringing down Project Freelancer. And though battle was the last thing they wanted they were already involved in the war.

Might as well face it together.

_‘That’s the spirit!’_ thought Sarge jovially. _‘I’ve been dying for some action.’_

_‘That’s a poor choice of words,’_ Lopez remarked.

_‘Can I wear a jumpsuit?’_

Sarge’s response was immediate. _‘No, Donut.’_

_‘Awww.’_

Wash grinned against Sarge’s shoulder. The gloom and agitation that had consumed him for the past few weeks dispelled, evaporating from his soul. He revelled in their soul-bond, in the love and care they had for him, and he for them. Something that once terrified him was now something he was immensely grateful and proud to be a part of.

He was aware that he may never fully stop having his emotional episodes. But his soulmates had proven they were more than capable of handling his intense feelings and of helping him work through them.

They belonged together. And they would all do their part to ensure they stayed that way, no matter who tried to tear them apart.

…

“Hey! Is everything all right in there?!”

The heavy hammering and frantic calls roused Washington immediately. He blinked blearily at the stuck door and it took a minute for him to remember what Lopez had done. “Uh…yeah!” he called. “We’re fine.”

He would have sat up, but Donut was splayed across his chest and his arm was trapped beneath Sarge. Donut opened his eyes and peered at the door, which rattled from their attempts to get inside. “What’s wrong?” he asked innocently.

Sarge gave an amused snort and Wash shushed him, failing to fight back a smile.

“We can’t get the door open,” said the solider in confusion. “And we really have to get on the road.”

“Why won’t it open?” asked Donut, and he bit down on his bottom lip to quell a giggle when Lopez shoved his shoulder.

“It looks like someone punched the card reader.”

“Well, that would be stupid,” said Washington, keeping a note of perplexity in his voice even as a smirk curled across his lips. “Why would someone do that?”

“I…I don’t know.”

Donut could not contain his laughter and he muffled it against Washington’s chest. Sarge, in an attempt to get Lopez to shuffle over so he could sit up, elbowed his stomach. His yelp of pain was hastily smothered into a pillow to keep their apparent handler from overhearing.

**“I’m made of metal, you moron.”**

“Lopez, move over!” hissed Sarge, massaging the reddened spot on his elbow. “I think ya broke something, damn it.”

**“Right, it’s my fault. As always.”**

“We really need to get you guys ready to go,” the solider spoke, his panic rising as he realized the situation would require a complex fix, and therefore a delayed departure. “Locus is already at the compound waiting for your arrival.”

“Really?” drawled Washington.

“Is there anything you guys can do from your side?”

“Afraid not,” said Sarge, even though none of them bothered to get up and check. “Seems like we’re stuck tight. How long do ya think it will take to fix this?”

“A few hours,” he answered, sounding despaired. “We’re going to have to replace the whole thing.”

“Hmm. What a shame.” Wash threaded his fingers through Donut’s hair, the strands soft against his skin. “I hope whoever is responsible is caught and punished severely.”

“Preferably dismembered,” added Sarge with a snicker.

**“I’ll dismember you if you don’t shut up,”** growled Lopez, pressing the tip of his foot into Sarge’s calf warningly. But Sarge found the gesture more humorous than threating and he chuckled.

A curse sounded from the other side as the solider resigned himself to the situation and stormed off to recruit some assistance. When his footsteps left their earshot Sarge said smugly, “Locus ain’t gonna be happy about this.”

“Nope,” said Washington cheerfully, letting his head fall back against his pillow. “He’s going to be pissed.”


	4. Sleepless in Armonia

To say that the war wasn’t going their way would be a drastic understatement.

Their mission to seize the second key had failed. It was in Felix’s possession and the only temporary reprieve was that he wouldn’t be able to activate it until Doyle was dead. But Washington knew that the relief wouldn’t last long. It was only a matter of time before the mercenaries and their space pirates launched an attack on Armonia in an attempt to get to the general.

Unless Kimball, Doyle and their respective armies learned to get along and trust one another, they didn’t stand a chance. They needed the leaders to actually talk, without insults and scathing criticisms, and try to understand each other.

Wash agreed with Sarge in that they needed a neutral party to facilitate the discussion. But the prime candidate was currently laid up in the infirmary. After being apprehended by Dr. Grey, O’Malley freaked out during her attempts to have him undergo electroshock therapy. To calm him down, she sedated him, and that had been several hours ago.

The ex-Freelancer entered the rest bay of the medical wing. He moved by the cots that contained other patients, paying them no mind. He had eyes only for his soulmate, who lay behind a section of privacy curtains. He nudged the white fabric aside, hoping to find Doc awake even though his soul-link remained quiet. The Jamaican man was still, the readings on his heart monitor steady and sure.

For a moment Wash regarded him with remorse and regret. The silence was broken when a familiar voice said wryly, “I really hope when he wakes up it’s not O’Malley we have to deal with.”

Tucker stepped past the curtain to stand by Wash. Though his visor blocked his expression Washington could feel Tucker’s guilt, an emotion they all shared when it came to Doc’s prolonged isolation.

“Has he done this before?” asked Wash.

“No. We thought once Omega left his head, he left Doc for good. But I guess he was in there for so long that he made an impression on Doc’s brain.” His voice turning bitter, he added, “I guess learning that we weren’t actively looking for him made him angry enough to trigger his O’Malley personality.”

“He’s been through a lot,” said Wash softly. “Thrown into another dimension, with no concept of time, and then getting spat out into those caves. His mind was stretched thin.”

“And then we shattered it,” said Tucker humourlessly. “Because I’m damn stupid and can’t keep my mouth shut.”

“Never thought I’d hear you admit it,” joked Wash. But Tucker’s sour attitude didn’t alleviate and Wash set a hand on his shoulder. “We’re all to blame. We were so caught up in dealing with this war that Doc kind of fell by the wayside.”

“We’re the best soulmates ever,” said Tucker with a roll of his eyes.

He leaned against Wash, his helmet clunking against his shoulder pad. Hidden from view by the curtains, Wash let his arm fall around Tucker’s waist. “He’ll be fine,” he said quietly.

“I don’t know,” said Tucker dubiously. “I don’t think you can just shed a split personality.”

“You can’t. But there’s medication he can take, if need be.”

“Does that stuff work against split personalities developed by an evil A.I. inhabiting your head for a long time?”

“Uh…” Wash blinked. “I don’t know.”

“Well, did the Freelancer Program ever give you guys meds?”

With a derisive snort, Washington answered, “I’m pretty sure that would have defeated their purpose. They wanted to see how far the mind could be pushed when sharing another. Besides, part of my mental illness was caused by an A.I. that killed itself inside my head, leaving its thoughts and memories tangled with mine. Not really a medication for that.”

“This is so messed up,” said Tucker with a sigh.

“Tell me about it,” said Wash feelingly. “The same A.I. is now my soulmate. Just…completely different from the one I was implanted with.”

Tucker gave a half-hearted snort of amusement. “Yeah. Beyond messed up.” His brow creased and he asked quietly, “Do you think he’ll forgive us?”

“I think so. I hope so.”

They stayed in each other’s embrace, staring at the prone figure of Doc, until they reluctantly left to tackle their given tasks in a war that didn’t seem to be in their favour.

…

Blue eyes were trained on the underside of Caboose’s bunk. Washington watched as the mattress creaked with each shift of Caboose’s body. Tucker was in the cot across the room, a pillow thrown over his head and his blankets cast to the floor.

Wash’s brain would not turn off. It raced with thoughts, with worries for what could happen when Felix and Locus inevitably attacked, and with grief for what Doc had gone through.

He knew, better than anyone else, what is like to suffer from mental instability. It was horrible. To not have control, to spin in a downward spiral into the darkness, to succumb to despair and rage and apathy. He had been through the process.

He didn’t want Doc to go through what he did. He didn’t want to be the reason for Doc crashing and burning.

Sadness clutched at his heart and he sat up with a hard breath as his chest started to tighten. He cast a quick glance at Tucker, who didn’t stir, and he put up an emotional barrier to ensure he wouldn’t disturb their slumber. He slid out of his bunk and put on his armour.

He walked out of the barracks and through the base, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. He encountered a few soldiers on their patrol and he inclined his head in acknowledgement. He reached the infirmary and entered the rest bay, where all the patients were asleep. He sat on the edge of Doc’s cot, watching his chest rise and fall with every breath.

“She must have really knocked you out,” said Wash in bemusement.

“Yeah, feels like she hit me in the back of the head with a sledgehammer.”

Wash jumped with a strangled shriek as Doc’s eyes opened. “What the hell?”

“Shh!” he hissed, eyes flickering to the curtains in fear. “Don’t bring her back. She scares me!”

Wash gaped at Doc, who was struggling to sit up. “How long have you been awake?”

“Er…I don’t know.” Doc squinted around the room. “Is there a clock in here? And my glasses, for that matter?”

His wire-framed glasses were on the bedside table. Wash handed them over and Doc slipped them over his nose. “It’s one in the morning,” informed Wash, eyes flickering to the time displayed in his HUD.

“I’ve been awake for about three hours.”

“You should have alerted us the minute you were awake,” said Wash with a frown, releasing the clasp on his helmet so he could remove it.

“It’s late.” Doc turned his head to the side and added quietly, “I didn’t think anyone would care, anyway.”

“That’s bull,” said Wash forcefully, letting his helmet clatter to the table surface. He tried to feel Doc’s emotions, only to find the soul-link blocked from the medic’s end, which explained how none of them knew that he had regained consciousness. “We were worried about you.”

“Not worried enough to come looking for me,” said Doc sourly.

“We should have,” agreed Wash quietly. “You were alone, and scared, and I know how that feels. But everything has been so chaotic here, that we just didn’t have the time. You were alive, and as far as we knew you weren’t in any danger. But I know that doesn’t really make things better.”

“You guys have really been through hell here, huh?”

A weak smile crossed Doc’s face and Wash returned it. “More than you know.”

“Tucker probably hates me now.”

“Definitely not,” said Wash, gripping Doc’s shoulder. “Even he knows the remark he made was stupid.”

“It’s okay,” said Doc, though his voice was tired and dull. “You found me in the end and I guess that’s what matters.”

But he didn’t drop his emotional barrier and he didn’t maintain eye contact, causing disappointment to well within Wash. But before he could pursue the matter a loud, cheerful voice declared, “I see someone’s awake!”

Immediate terror flooded Doc’s expression and he started to thrash in his blankets. “Get me out of here!”

Unable to restrain his amusement at Doc’s panic, Wash set a hand against his chest to keep him from flying out of the bed. “You’ve been out for a bit. She needs to check you over.”

Hard, cold fury twisted Doc’s features into an ugly snarl. “If she puts a finger on me, I’m the one who’s going to be doing the checking. Checking to make sure she doesn’t have a pulse after I destroy her!”

Dr. Grey, unfazed by the threat, strode up to Doc’s bedside. “Agent Washington, you know visiting hours are over,” she said in disapproval.

“I know,” said Wash, keeping wary eyes on O’Malley, who truly did look like he was about murder Dr. Grey at any second.

“Well, I suppose I can let it go this time. But from now on you _will_ have to follow protocol. He may be your soulmate but I can’t have you strolling in at all hours!”

“Of course. I apologize.”

“Now let’s make sure that dose of horse tranquilizer didn’t negatively affect your little organs.”

Washington was about to ask why on earth she had used animal medication on a human, but received his answer when O’Malley broke through his hold and lunged towards Dr. Grey with his hands outstretched. Honed instincts allowed Wash to shift and twist, seizing his wrists before twitching fingers grasped Dr. Grey’s neck.

“Get this psycho away from me!” hissed O’Malley.

“Ooh, seems like the pot is calling the kettle black,” said Dr. Grey gleefully.

As she extended her data pad O’Malley cried, “I’ll kill the both of you in your sleep! With a scalpel! And a—”

Wash’s hands reached up and clasped the man’s cheeks. “Frank!” he said sharply, and the tirade immediately ceased. “I know you’re in there. Dr. Grey isn’t going to put you through anymore electroshock therapy. She’s just going to do a regular check-up.”

The ice melted from Doc’s eyes and his features smoothed out. “Right,” he whispered. “Of course.”

Relieved, Wash stepped back and turned to face Dr. Grey, who observed the pair with her head tilted slightly. “Just a regular check-up, right?”

It came out as a question but Dr. Grey knew full well it was meant to be a statement. His voice was tight with warning and though she was far from threatened the sudden, commanding aura that surrounded him caused a slight chill to run down her spine.

“You got it, Mr. Big Bad Wash.”

Wash stood off to the side and watched attentively as Dr. Grey used her tablet to scan Doc’s vitals. When nothing concerning appeared in the resulting data, she did a routine check-up before deeming him good for release.

With no other patients needing immediate attention Dr. Grey returned to her quarters. Doc slid out of bed and Wash cast a quick glance around the small space. “Where’s your armour?”

“Donut took it to be repaired. My HUD malfunctioned when I was sent to another dimension and didn’t come back online when I was thrown out into the caves.”

_That explains why we couldn’t contact you over the radio._

“Dr. Grey knows we’re soulmates, but only because she’s had to treat us. Several times. But no one else knows and we want to keep it that way,” spoke Wash. “With Felix and Locus out there, I want no chance of this information leaking to them.”

“Understandable,” said Doc with a nod.

Doc’s soulmarks weren’t visible, covered up by his clothing, and Wash figured it was safe enough for him to travel through the corridors. It was late and only the patrollers were out and about. “We’ll be fine this time. But after that, don’t leave the bunk without your armour. You’ll have to stay there until Donut returns it or we get you a temporary replacement.”

“Okay. Um…where is my bunk?”

“You’re sharing with Tucker, Caboose and I.”

They stepped out from behind the privacy curtain and exited the medical wing. They encountered a few soldiers in their trek back to the barracks and their stares were due to the fact they very rarely saw someone out of armour, and were probably trying to place a name to his face.

Doc entered the bunk, where Tucker and Caboose were still in a deep slumber. He glanced over his shoulder at Washington, who was in the process of removing his armour. “What were you doing in the rest bay, anyway?” he asked quietly. “You should be sleeping.”

Washington gave a weary smile. “Couldn’t. My brain won’t shut off.”

“Worried about Felix and the key?”

“And that he’s going to do whatever he has to do in order to kill General Doyle so he can activate it. An attack is coming on Armonia, sooner rather than later. We’re not even close to being ready to put on a defense.”

Doc regarded Wash, how his shoulders hunched with agitation and how the stress etched deep lines into his face. An ache resonated deep within him, his soul trembled with it, and Doc hesitantly reached out a hand, hovering just over his soulmark on Wash’s body.

“Soul-bonds help you sleep, right? Um, do you want—”

He did not expect Wash to spin around and set his hand against the small of his back. Doc’s soul gave a strong, pleasant hum at the contact and Doc’s words trailed off into a surprised squeak as his palm fell over his handprint on Wash’s left shoulder.

Their souls entangled and Washington moved backwards, bumping into his bunk and lowering onto the mattress with Doc still in his embrace. The warmth and love consumed them both and Wash gave a soft sigh of contentment.

As Wash’s free hand fell against his hair, lightly twisting into the dark strands, Doc felt a rush of bewilderment. He had only soul-bonded with Wash a couple of times before their arrival on Chorus and he hadn’t been this affectionate.

 _‘I’ve learned that trying to be distant only hurts,’_ thought Wash. _‘I’m not holding back. Not anymore. It was stupid of me to think I could fight against my soul-bonds in the first place.’_

_‘Oh. Well, I’m glad you’re open to cuddling. You’re very good at it.’_

Wash chuckled lowly. _‘Thanks.’_

Doc closed his eyes, letting Wash’s scents of pumpkin pie and cinnamon comfort him. He searched through Wash’s soul, sifting through the memories of the events that had occurred since his abrupt departure by the teleportation cubes. He found grief, sadness, anxiety, panic and anger. Of how being separated from Grif, Simmons, Tucker and Caboose nearly broke him. Of how fear would seize him whenever they had to be sent on a mission, with no promises that they would all make it back. Of the days and nights he would fret, lost and helpless at not knowing where Doc was.

Guilt surged through Doc, clawing into his throat, for thinking that none of them had spared him a thought throughout his absence. Shame burned in his chest for letting O’Malley break free, for letting his insecurities take hold.

 _‘Don’t be ashamed,’_ thought Wash sharply. _‘You were isolated for a long time. I would have been surprised if you didn’t have a mental breakdown.’_

Washington could not judge, would not judge, others on their mental state when his was in such poor health. He was still haunted by his dark days, and how he had been forced to stitch his sanity back together himself. The trauma had turned him cold and heartless, willing to do whatever he needed to look out for himself. He shot Donut and Lopez with apathy, without blinking or hesitating, he had nearly killed two of his soulmates without realizing—

The vicious, self-loathing robbed Doc of breath, but only for a moment. He buried his face into Washington’s neck. _‘It’s in the past. They forgive you. We all do. If I shouldn’t feel shame for my mental disorder, you shouldn’t feel shame for yours.’_

_‘I may not have been in the best mental state, but that doesn’t excuse my actions.’_

_‘It doesn’t,’_ agreed Doc. _‘But you’ve changed. You’re a better person. You work so hard to keep us safe.’_

Doc’s tenderness smoothed over him, eliminating the gloom that had formed, and Wash moved his fingers down the side of Doc’s face before cupping his chin. He tilted his head up slightly so he could rest his forehead against Doc’s. _‘Thank you. I’m still a work in progress, but I’m getting there. If you’re worried about O’Malley, we can ask Dr. Grey for help.’_

 _‘I’m sure she has good intentions, but her attempt at therapy made things worse,’_ thought Doc with a flinch.

_‘That was…aggressive. I’m sure there’s a prescription she can give you, if you want.’_

_‘Maybe. I’ll have to deal with O’Malley later. You need me to do some counselling between Kimball and Doyle first, right?’_

_‘Badly,’_ thought Wash feelingly. _‘If we want to stand a chance against Felix and Locus, we need those two and their armies to trust one another.’_

_‘I know a lot of great trust exercises.’_

_‘But it doesn’t have to come first. You come first. Your health comes first. I’m sorry if we made you think otherwise.’_

_‘You can stop apologizing,’_ thought Doc in exasperation. _‘It’s okay. And I lived with O’Malley before. I can live with him again. Besides, if I have to fight in this war, I’m going to need his help.’_

Doc gently removed himself from Wash’s grip and nuzzled his nose back into his neck. Deep fondness swelled within Washington. He brought Doc closer to his body, fingers returning to stroke through his hair. _‘I would say you have no idea how happy I am to have you back. But I think you do.’_

_‘I think your soul is doing a good job of conveying it.’_

With Doc secure in his hold, and the familiar and comforting sensation of their souls interlocked, Wash turned his head into his pillow and let the fatigue win over.

…

Washington was a light sleeper, but he could usually ignore the sounds he had deemed to be non-threatening. Caboose’s cot squeaked and the metal ladder wobbled as the man got out of bed. But after a few minutes there was no further movement and Wash’s eyes cracked open—only to see Caboose’s beaming grin inches away from his face.

He gave a startled scream that woke up Doc, who shot upwards with a confused, sleepy yelp and collided with Caboose’s chin.

“Ow!” he cried, falling heavily back to the cot. “What the heck?”

“Caboose!” hissed Wash, his voice high-pitched as his heart pounded madly in his chest. “You can’t do that!”

“Holy crap!” said Tucker, hunched over with laughter. “Your faces! They were priceless!”

Caboose, unbothered by the hit to his chin, said cheerfully, “Doc, you’re all better!”

“Er, mostly better,” corrected Doc, gingerly rubbing his head.

“You didn’t wake me up for cuddling,” he accused, brown eyes narrowing. “That’s rude.”

“They didn’t wake me up either,” piped up Tucker.

“You’re not as important.”

“Oh, screw you dude!”

Washington laughed softly and rolled out of bed. “Sorry, Caboose. We’ll soul-bond together next time. But you can do it now with Doc if you want.”

“Okay!”

Doc yipped as Caboose promptly pulled him into his arms, his hand instinctual falling against the dark blue soulmark on Doc’s left hip. The humour left Tucker as he regarded the medic hesitantly, uncertain if he would be welcome after O’Malley beat the crap out of him. But Doc extended a hand and Tucker didn’t waste a second, striding over and curling his arms around his waist.

“I’ll let Kimball and Doyle know they better prepare for a counselling session,” spoke Wash, sliding on his helmet. “I’ll also let the Reds know you chose to bond with the Blues before them.”

He stepped out into the corridor, Doc’s indigent squawk sounding after him, and a grin practically split Washington’s face in two.


	5. Sleepless in Residential City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains a brief but pretty gruesome and violent dream death scene.

“Carolina?”

There was no answer. There was nothing but silence. Wash spun around on his heel and looked around frantically. Only seconds ago, the harsh sounds of bullets and grenades had permeated the air, dozens of Feds and Rebels stampeding across the grounds with war cries to face the space pirates head on. But now Wash was alone.

All alone.

Dust hung in the air like a thin, beige curtain and Wash could see a massive shape off in the distance. He jogged towards it, heart pounding madly in his chest. Branded on the side of the spaceship were the words _Staff of Charon._ Wash’s breath caught in his throat and he gripped his gun tightly in his hands. He boarded the ship, his steps slow and cautious.

The halls were quiet. There were no enemies running to confront him. “Tucker?” Wash called, desperation in his voice. “Caboose? Simmons? Anyone?”

The ship was a twisting maze of corridors and though he wasn’t sure where he needed to go his legs seemed to know the way. He found himself standing in a long stretch of hallway, where a lone door sat at the end. Bright red blood pooled beneath the crack, spidering off into dozens of thin lines.

“ _No!”_

Wash sprinted.

When he got close the door opened of its own accord and he slipped in the puddle of blood in his franticness. He froze in the entryway, staring at the bodies that were crumpled on the floor. They were lying in their own blood, which leaked from their wounds and the holes in their armour and helmets.

Lopez’s body had been ripped limb from limb, his circuits crushed beyond repair. Grif had been impaled by his own Grif Shot, the curved blade stuck through his torso. Sarge and Simmons were bleeding heavily from their heads, their visors shattered. Doc and Donut’s armour had been sliced clean open from their naval to their chins, blood completely soaking them. Tucker’s body had been forcibly bent in half; his spine shattered and his neck twisted. And Caboose…Caboose’s head was no longer attached to his body.

Wash screamed.

…

He couldn’t breathe.

Washington shot upwards, trying and failing to wheeze as his chest felt like it was caving in on itself. He wanted to shout but his tongue was dry and his throat was constricted. He clawed blindly around him and his hand smacked into metal.

He didn’t register the sharp pain charging down his nerves as he tumbled out of bed. He stood in the middle of the room, his head swivelling wildly as he tried to get his bearings.

Tucker, Caboose and Doc were fast asleep. Their soft snores filled the small space and Wash fell to his knees, choking out a sob of relief as he scrubbed his hands down his tear-streaked face. The vice-grip around his heart eased just enough for him to drag in a few unsteady breaths.

_It was just a nightmare. It was just a nightmare._

But this provided him no comfort.

The images of their broken and lifeless bodies surrounding him were burned into his psyche. Wash could feel the intangible wall surrounding his soul, a barrier he had created subconsciously to guard his soulmates from his emotions as his own mind tortured him.

Wash climbed shakily to his feet. Sweat drenched his body, his sleep shirt sticking to his skin, and he trembled violently. He went over to Tucker, who slept in a slumped position. The slight bend to his back was too much for Washington and he guided Tucker’s body until he was sleeping straight.

Washington checked on Doc, who was huddled against the wall. He set a hand against his back, feeling it move with each breath, and strode across the room. Caboose was splayed out, his arm and leg hanging over the edge of the bunk, and Wash moved each limb until they were resting on the mattress.

He left his bunk and went next door, where the Reds resided. Now that the war was officially over, they didn’t seem to see the need to lock their door and for that Wash was grateful.

Grif slept on his side, his long raven hair covering his face. Sarge grumbled in his sleep, mostly threats against Grif and that caused a small, weak smile to form on Washington’s lips. Simmons hugged his pillow to his chest and Donut’s soft, whistling snore echoed off the walls. Lopez stood in the corner, deactivated for the night, his chin tucked down. He was whole, with no wires exposed or torn out.

Wash found the alien weapon, once owned by Maine before Grif took possession, and grabbed it. He left the Reds and went further down the corridor, where Carolina resided in a bunk at the very end.

He knew she was alive. Not just because he hadn’t seen her body amongst the carnage in his dreams, but because her soulmark was still vibrant on his skin. Just like the others. But that didn’t stop his panic. It didn’t hinder his need to check on her and Church. It didn’t keep his eyes from roving over his body, ensuring that he didn’t suddenly have a third charred soulmark.

_You’re an idiot. Of course you don’t. You would have felt it._

He never ever wanted to experience that feeling again.

Carolina’s door was locked but she had given him a spare key. Kimball was in the process of getting the Reds and Blues each a card that would exclusively open all of their bunks. But it was not a priority, as it shouldn’t be, but Wash couldn’t wait until he had the master key in his hands.

The door slid open and Carolina was awake in a nanosecond. She seized her gun from her bedside table and swung up to face him. She quickly lowered the weapon once she recognized her midnight visitor. “Geez! What the hell are you doing?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I just needed to make sure you’re okay. Where’s Church?”

“Sleeping.” Carolina regarded Washington; whose features were exposed without his armour. His entire body was shaking and it was clear he was struggling to breathe, his body spasming with each attempt he took. Carolina abruptly climbed out of bed and said urgently, “Church!”

“I’m up, I’m up!” Church cried, flickering into view. “What’s wrong?”

“Something’s wrong with Wash!”

Wash tried to speak, tried to reassure her that he was fine, but his muscles suddenly gave out on him and he sunk to the floor, the Grif Shot clattering near his feet. A tidal wave of relief crashed over him, crushing him, because his soulmates were alive and they were safe and oh God if they died he would never—

“He is having one hell of a panic attack,” reported Church after scanning Washington’s vitals.

Carolina’s eyes glimmered with understanding and she rushed to his side. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into the room, letting the door swish shut behind him. “Hey. Hey. Look at me.” She gripped his chin and forced him to make eye contact. “You’re okay. We’re okay. Just breathe.”

“In through your nose and out through your mouth, buddy.”

Carolina let go and Wash put his head between his knees. It took a bit, but with Carolina rubbing circles into his back and Church coaching him, his breathing finally evened out. He slowly raised his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

“You’re welcome.” Carolina clasped his shoulder. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I had a nightmare. That they were all dead. There was so much blood.”

His voice choked and Carolina squeezed. “It was just a dream,” she said firmly. “Nothing happened. They won. _We_ won.”

“I know. But it seemed so real.”

“It’s been a hard few days,” said Church. “That final fight against Hargrove’s forces could have ended really badly. But it didn’t. Going over all the things that could have gone wrong won’t do you any favours.” He gave a humourless snort. “Trust me on that one.”

Wash slid his gaze to regard him. “You saw all the outcomes, didn’t you?”

“When you’re calculating the odds of survival, you kind of need to see all of them, yeah. Especially the failed ones.” Church’s voice grew grim. “Those…those weren’t pretty.”

“But you saved them,” said Carolina firmly. “So we don’t need to worry.”

“Right.” Wash stood up, his fingers still working an anxious rhythm through his hair. “Sorry, for disturbing you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I’ll go back to bed.”

“Yeah right,” said Church in disbelief. “Listen man, we may have just established our soul-connection like, yesterday, but I’ve got enough memories to know that you don’t sleep on a regular basis. Let alone after a nightmare.”

Sarge, fueled by adrenaline and restlessness as Simmons, Grif and Donut were recovering in the infirmary after their final stand, built Church a robot body with Lopez as his assistant. Within the span of a day he exchanged soulmarks with Carolina and Washington. The blue armour currently stood in the corner, waiting for its owner to take possession.

“I said I would go back to bed. Not that I would go back to sleep,” quipped Wash.

“Oh, ha ha. Jokes. That’s a good sign.”

Carolina studied Wash intently, at his haunted blue eyes and the lines of distress creasing his face. She grasped his left hand, which her soulmark covered, and Wash gasped as her concern and tenderness swelled through him. Her emotions loosened the knots in his chest and he found himself sagging against her, his hand finding his soulmark on her back.

Church made a fond clicking sound as the two ex-Freelancers sank to the floor, wrapped up in an embrace. “The bed is literally a few steps away. It’s much more comfortable than the concrete.”

“Shut up,” mumbled Carolina, her other hand looping around Wash’s neck. “Get over here.”

Church hopped into his armour and the limbs creaked to life. He laid down behind Washington and folded his palm against Wash’s forearm, which bore a blue handprint. Wash immediately reached down and put his hand on Church’s right hip, where buried under the armour was his soulmark on his holographic form.

A crisp cold consumed Wash, but combined with Church’s affection it was a soothing sensation that Wash could only experience from a soul-bond with the A.I. It did not take long for them to start exploring his soul, in search of the memory of his nightmare, and he tensed.

_‘Don’t. It was a horrible dream.’_

Pain seared through him and Carolina increased her grip. _‘We’re no strangers to horrors, David.’_

_‘Everything I ever experienced is nothing compared to the imaginary horrors my mind conjured tonight.’_

_‘Because they were in it,’_ said Church softly. _‘I know.’_

_‘You too. You weren’t there. You were gone.’_

_‘Well, I’m still here. Much to your disappointment, I’m sure.’_

But that wasn’t true and they all knew it. Wash could not stop them and his soul bore his nightmare in its entirety. Grief and despair charged through them and Carolina’s breath caught in her throat. Church made a distressed, strangled cry and Wash squeezed his eyes shut.

_‘I told you not to look. It should have been my burden to work through, not yours.’_

_‘That’s not how this works,’_ thought Church sharply. _‘We’re soulmates. There’s no such thing as privacy. Your emotions are our emotions. We deal with crap together, no matter how bad it is.’_

 _‘Trying to deal with this kind of thing alone is how we nearly self-destructed,’_ thought Carolina grimly. _‘It’s how they self-destructed. I’m not letting it happen to anyone else. So every time you feel like you’re drowning, you come to one of us. Do you hear me?’_

The fallen Freelancers glimmered through their souls, memories both good and bad flickering before them like a rough cut of a film. Carolina’s order was delivered with more desperation than authority and Washington pressed his nose against her hair.

_‘I hear you, boss.’_

Church was deeply disturbed by Wash’s nightmare, and he felt the man’s pulse of guilt for making them see it. _‘Shut up. You know how soul-bonding works. You couldn’t have hidden it even if you tried. It’s just…if anyone ever, ever,_ ever _did that to any of them, the things I would do would make them_ beg _for me to decapitate them.’_

 _‘I’ve got a pretty gruesome imagination,’_ thought Wash wryly.

_‘So does Tucker.’_

_‘You’re confusing gruesome with gross,’_ thought Carolina in amusement.

_‘I think both are appropriate terms.’_

The darkness receded, chased away by the tenderness they felt for each other and the rest of their soulmates. Church’s finger stroked against Wash’s forearm, his head falling to rest against Wash’s shoulder. His love snapped through their bonds with a ferocity that they reciprocated.

 _‘I am the luckiest damn A.I. in the freaking universe,’_ thought Church in satisfaction.

Wash didn’t know how fate could have believed he was worthy to be bound to ten soulmates, to be permanently emotionally connected to them with an intensity that couldn’t be described with words, but he was beyond grateful.

In the past, it would have taken weeks before he forgot the nightmare and terrors that plagued him. But in the arms of his soulmates, with their soul scents washing over him and their love and care keeping him anchored, the dark cloud that had formed dissipated. Before he fell asleep one thought rang clear through his mind, full of pride and gratitude.

Church was right. They were damn lucky.

…

“Hey! Open up!”

Grif’s shout, followed by his insistent hammering on the door, roused Washington, Carolina and Church from slumber. “We were sleeping, asshole!” snapped Church, removing his arms from Wash as he sat up.

“I don’t care! Open the door!”

Carolina stood and walked over to the scanner, giving it a tap. The door swished open and Grif glowered at her, his Grif Shot clutched in his arms. “Which one of you assholes stole my weapon?”

“Are you serious?” demanded Church.

“It’s mine!”

“You are such a baby,” said Carolina with a roll of her eyes.

“I took it,” admitted Wash. “I had a nightmare where you were impaled with it. I didn’t exactly feel comfortable leaving it in the same room as you.”

The ire immediately fled from Grif’s expression. “Oh.” He eyed the weapon, as if suddenly expecting it to come to life and attack him. “Okay. Fair enough.”

“I’m curious.” Green eyes sparkled as Carolina regarded Grif, leaning against the doorframe. “If I had actually stolen it back from you, what did you think you could do to get it back?”

“Hey, don’t underestimate the power of an angry fat guy,” warned Grif.

“An angry lazy fat guy,” sneered Church. “Emphasis on lazy. Not much of a threat.”

“Screw you.” Grif turned around but before he departed he said, “Oh, I wouldn’t leave your body if I were you Church. Sis is going to be landing in ten minutes.”

“What?!”

“I said—”

“I know what you said!” Church focussed on his soul-links but couldn’t feel anything but lingering sleepiness as the others started to wake. “What the hell? Do the others know?”

“No. Kimball and I set it up immediately after Hargrove was arrested. I didn’t want to say anything in case the flight was delayed or she took the damn ship on a joyride or something. Kimball just told me she would be arriving shortly.”

“That should have been the first thing you told us when you barged in here!” Church shrieked, his voice rising in pitch, as it usually did when he was angry and frustrated.

“You clearly did not tell the others,” said Wash with narrowed eyes.

“I’m going to. Kimball spoke to me in the hall, and when she left, I looked over and saw my Grif Shot abandoned outside your door. So it’s your fault for distracting me.”

“You idiot!” snapped Carolina.

Grif would have been more threatened by their outrage if a) he didn’t feel it on a frequent basis and b) their excitement and joy wasn’t roaring through him. He grinned and said, “Hurry up. You’ve got ten minutes.”

He departed with a cackle and Carolina swore after him. “Come on, Wash. We’ve got a soulmate to greet and I’d rather not do in my pajamas.”

“You know what? Sister honestly would not care,” spoke Church.

“I’m not walking to the landing bay in my pajamas, Church.”

“Actually, I’m starting to think you should. It would be hilarious.”

As the pair bickered Wash left the room, heading to his own bunk. His heart pounded with anticipation and eagerness flowed through him. He pictured the spot on his back, the lone soulmark that had yet to be filled.

Before day’s end, Wash was confident that Kaikaiana Grif’s mark on his body would be filled. He couldn’t wait.


	6. Sleepless No More

After the arrest of Malcolm Hargrove and the death of Felix, the Chorusans knew there was much work still to be done. They had won the bloody and brutal war, but the amount of rebuilding was extensive, complex and expensive. There would need to be organizations, committees and plans in order to execute all that needed to be completed.

Kimball’s mind spun with ideas and blueprints, invisible threads that only she could see, connecting and knotting together into something cohesive. But she didn’t call her soldiers to action—not yet. Their victory was long overdue. They all deserved to celebrate, and the days and nights were filled with music and fireworks and a jubilancy that hadn’t graced Chorus in years.

Washington could not begin to describe the relief he felt. There would be no more missions, no more battles with Felix and Locus, and no more fretting about the safety of his soulmates.

Well, that last part was a lie. He would always worry. But now that Chorus was no longer a war-torn planet the list of his apprehensions had drastically reduced.

The Reds and Blues weren’t entirely sure what their next course of action would be. Some of them were more than eager for a change of scenery. Some weren’t quite willing to depart Chorus just yet, not when their entire civilization needed rebuilding from the ground up. But while they talked about it in passing, they had yet to sit down and have a serious discussion.

It was a discussion that could wait. As the Chorusans were taking some time off, so were they. Kaikaiana had arrived on Chorus with a half-smoking ship, which she quickly insisted was not her fault. Grif rolled his eyes, insulted her, and she tackled him in a bear hug.

The week had been spent reuniting with Kai, or in Carolina and Wash’s case, connecting with her. Wash received her soulmark hours after her arrival and his soul had felt like it would vibrate out of his body.

He was so happy. It had been so long since he was happy, with no stress and darkness clouding his mind and heart.

The twelve of them spent every waking moment together. Strolling through the jungles surrounding the rubble-filled city that functioned as their new headquarters. Crowding together in one of their rooms, elbow-to-elbow, chatting for hours on end. Arguing, bickering, laughing, shouting, Kai’s boisterous laughter melding seamlessly into their melody.

It was the best melody in the world, as far as Wash was concerned. Even if it was a melody that often made him want to tear his hair out.

He, Carolina and Church were by far the early risers of the group. They spent the first hours of dawn running laps around the training room and sparring, with Church logging their progress and updating their stats. When breakfast neared, they would shower and enter the mess hall, shoving two tables together and getting their coffee as they waited for the rest of their soulmates.

Grif, as usual, was last to straggle in. He piled a cracked, white plate with oatmeal and toast and slouched over to their table, squeezing in between Simmons and Sarge. “This sucks,” he snapped, yanking off his helmet.

Wash had relented slightly when it came to their armour. It was the first week they finally ate with the other troops in the mess hall, and the first time any of them had seen the Reds and Blues without their helmets.

“What sucks?” asked Caboose.

“Ships are practically begging to be let into Chorus’ airspace. They’re loaded with real, delicious food. Why are we still eating like orphans?”

“Because Kimball is not letting a single ship land on this planet without a background check,” said Wash pointedly. “And since she wants her soldiers to have a rest, which they absolutely deserve, she’s doing the inspections herself for the time being. The supplies will start pouring in once she gets a crew together to help.”

“But if you’re so desperate to eat real food again, you could always offer her your help,” said Tucker innocently.

Grif scoffed. “I am never _that_ desperate for food.”

“I beg to differ,” muttered Sarge and Simmons in unison.

“You are despicable,” said Carolina flatly.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” retorted Grif, unbothered. He tilted his head back to drop some oatmeal into his mouth, but Carolina deftly reached over and smacked his hand, causing the oatmeal to drop directly into his face.

Grif spluttered in outrage, instinctively rubbing at his face and only succeeding in spreading the goopy breakfast food over his cheeks and forehead. Caboose handed over a napkin and said helpfully, “You have some white stuff on your face.”

“Bow-chicka-bow-wow!” crowed Tucker.

“It’s not really white,” said Donut, propping his chin against his hand as he regarded the clumps dripping from Grif. “It’s grey.”

“I’m pretty sure oatmeal is not supposed to be grey,” spoke Simmons, jabbing at it with his fork.

“That hasn’t stopped you from eating it, so why the hell worry about it now?” asked Church with a snort. “Hey, Grif, Caboose is right. You got a little something on your nose.”

“Shut up!” hissed Grif, using the napkin Caboose had proffered to scrub at his face. “Carolina, you asshole! It’s in my freaking eye!”

“Aww, poor baby,” mocked Carolina. “But don’t worry. I’m sure the food will still somehow make it to your stomach.”

They erupted with laughter and Grif scowled. He shot out his leg, kicking Carolina hard in the shin. The humour immediately faded from her green eyes and they seemed to harden into emeralds. “Oooh, you know better than that.”

She dove across the table, Wash nimbly pulling his mug out of her way and saving her own caffeinated beverage from being knocked to the floor. Tucker reared back to avoid a leg to the face and Grif scrambled to his feet. But Carolina was already on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him to the floor in a chokehold. Grif, still half-blinded by oatmeal, thrashed about wildly.

“You’re not pressin’ hard enough,” called Sarge. “His face ain’t even turnin’ purple.”

“Get…her…off!” wheezed Grif, trying and failing to thrust his elbow into her stomach.

**“No,”** said Lopez, thouroughly enjoying the impromptu wrestling match.

Wash shook his head, drawing his eyes away from the pair to take a long sip of his coffee. “If you spent more time training, you might actually be able to throw her off you.”

“Wash, don’t give the guy false hopes,” snickered Tucker.

“Grif, you still have white stuff on your face,” reported Caboose. “Do you want me to get it for you?”

_“No!”_

“Yes!” cried Church. “Help him out, buddy.”

As Caboose stood up, Grif started kicking his legs in an attempt to ward the man away. “I said no!”

“But Church said yes,” said Caboose cheerfully.

Doc winced as Caboose sprawled over Grif’s chest and practically smothered the orange-suited solider with the napkin. “Someone is going to get hurt here.”

“I hope it’s Grif,” said Sarge longingly.

“You missed a spot,” said Carolina with a grin, her arms still locked around Grif’s neck, albeit not as tight.

“Right!” Caboose squeezed Grif’s nose, eliciting a shriek of pain, and proudly held out the oatmeal-covered napkin. “Got it!”

“I think we’re finished here.”

Carolina released her hold and returned to her seat. Sarge gave a disgruntled grumble. “Ya could have at least broken something.”

“Maybe later,” she replied.

Grif lay against the floor, his cheeks flushed and dark eyes frazzled. His chest rose and fell as he gasped for breath. He turned irate eyes on his soulmates, who were now pointedly ignoring him. “Screw. You. All.”

“Oh, cry me a river, dirtbag.”

As Grif collapsed back to his seat Wash turned to Carolina and asked, “Where’s Kai?”

“Still sleeping. Food doesn’t seem to be a motivating factor in getting her to rise before ten. Unlike _someone_ we know.”

Grif glowered at her, but wisely kept his mouth shut as he stabbed his spoon into his oatmeal. Wash drained the rest of his coffee before digging into his sub-par breakfast, tuning into his soul-links. Grif’s anger was sharp but everyone else’s amusement cooled the burn of it. Kai’s emotions, which he had felt in the background a second ago, were now guarded and distant.

Wash’s brow furrowed. _Huh. Weird._

…

Kai did not end up joining them for breakfast and Carolina discovered her missing from their shared room when she went to check on her. She wasn’t too worried, but when a few hours passed by with no sign of the girl, everyone grew a bit panicked. After a search through the complex turned up nothing Washington activated his radio, the static crackling through his ears for a moment before he selected a channel and it connected.

“Kai?”

“Yo!”

Relief coursed through him and he asked in bewilderment, “Where are you? You missed breakfast.”

“Eh, wasn’t really hungry.”

“You sure you’re a Grif?” wondered Carolina.

“Oh, definitely,” said Church feelingly. “Trust me.”

“Kai, where you at?” demanded Grif.

“I went for a walk.”

“Oh, damn you,” said Grif with a groan. “Do you even know where you are?”

There was a beat of silence before Kai reluctantly admitted, “Not a clue, bro. I’ve tried looking for landmarks but nothing is familiar.”

“Of course nothing is familiar!” exploded Grif. “It’s just piles of rubble and junk everywhere! And you’ve been here for two days! You couldn’t even walk around the island without getting lost!”

“I could too!”

“You could not!”

“All right!” interjected Wash. If Grif was in the same room, he would have been the recipient of what they deemed the Wash Glare, which promised pain and punishment if he wasn’t adhered to. “Kai, have you tried following the compass in your HUD? We’re three kilometers south of the main intersection.”

“The dial thing? Yeah, it keeps spinning on me. It won’t stay in one direction.”

“Oh, I know how compasses work!” exclaimed Caboose. “You just walk in a big straight line and it’ll stop moving!”

“Really? Holy crap, that does work!”

Washington blinked. When he did not respond right away, Church said with a snort, “Yeah, she’s basically the female version of Caboose. This is what I had to deal with.”

“Kai, just stand still,” ordered Grif. “I’ll come get you.”

“Alrighty!”

“Church—” started Carolina, but the A.I. interrupted her.

“Already done. Projecting her coordinates to your HUD, Grif.”

“Got ‘em. Sit tight, K. I’ll be there soon.”

“Can I explore some of these old buildings while I wait?”

“No! What part of sit still do you not understand?”

“Ugh, you’re such a buzzkill!”

…

It was a half hour later when Grif returned to the base with Kai in tow. By that point it was time for lunch, so they all gathered in the mess hall. As they stood in line for food, Wash set a hand against Kai’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yup!” she chirped. “Wasn’t much to look at, though.”

“Yeah, a civil war kind of ruins that sort of thing,” pointed out Simmons.

They received their plastic trays loaded with chicken salad sandwiches (or in Simmons and Doc’s case, garden salads) and went to their usual tables. They went through their routine of idle chatter, but Wash immediately picked up that Kai was quieter than normal. She picked at her food, creating a small pile of bread crumbs, as her gaze flitted around the table. Her emotions were still guarded and Wash frowned. There was a lack of light in her dark eyes, an absence of her vibrancy and spunk.

He could see Grif also watching her, his lips pinched into a frown. When they finished eating, he grasped her elbow and they walked off together. Wash’s concern eased slightly, for if there was one thing that Grif took seriously it was the well-being of his little sister.

Wash stepped into the corridor, nodding at Sarge, Donut and Simmons as they headed off in a different direction. A heavy weight knocked against his back, armour clanking against armour, and Wash would have probably taken an ungraceful spill to the floor if Caboose’s arms didn’t wrap around him a second later.

“Can we play a game?” he asked, resting his chin against Wash’s shoulder.

“What kind of game, buddy?”

Caboose’s response was immediate. “Candyland.”

Wash gave a low chuckle. “Should have guessed. Sure, we can play Candyland.”

“Do you think Sister wants to play too? She seems sad. Maybe a game will cheer her up.”

Wash wondered if Caboose would ever stop surprising him. He thought only he and Grif had noticed Kai’s distant behaviour during lunch. But Caboose could be very perceptive. Usually in the oddest, most random occasions. And most frequently when it came to people’s emotions, especially those of his soulmates.

He set a hand overtop Caboose’s wrist and gave a gentle squeeze. “I think she and Grif need some sibling time. If something’s wrong, I’m sure she’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

“Okay.”

The disappointment showed in his voice and flowed through their soul-link. “Maybe she’ll play a game with you later,” suggested Washington. “It can just be the two of us for now.”

“Okay!” There was more cheer injected into his tone and Caboose started to drag Wash down the hallway. “I want to be the blue gingerbread man. You can be red.”

“Sure. But don’t tell Sarge. He’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

…

Whatever the Grif siblings spoke about was not shared with the others. But Kai made more of an effort to engage them in conversation and laughed a bit louder, though the smile she plastered on her face didn’t quite meet her eyes. Washington suspected the girl didn’t reveal the reasons for her low mood, for Grif kept shooting glares at her over the course of the day. When Donut finally asked why she was keeping her emotions blocked from the rest of them, Kai simply responded that she needed a bit of space.

Grif had called bull on that. Kai answered by flipping him off and storming away. He had wanted to go after her but Washington restrained him. “Give her a breather,” he had said. “If she’s not out of her funk by tomorrow, we’ll talk to her, whether she’s ready or not.”

In the late evening hours Washington was disturbed from slumber by a small, strangled sob. He snapped to attention, blue eyes blinking rapidly to clear the sleepy haze from his vision. He swung himself out of his bunk and reached up, setting a hand over Caboose’s shoulder.

“Hey, bud, what’s wrong?”

The sound came again, but not from Caboose, as Washington had initially thought. It came from the other side of the door and Wash strode over, pressing the button to access the corridor. He poked his head out and spotted Kai speed-walking down the hall in her pajamas, hunched over as she wept into her hands.

Wash’s heart stuttered and concern knotted in his chest. She disappeared around the corner and he sprinted after her. “Kai!” he called softly.

She came to a halt and peered over her shoulder. Her dark eyes, so identical to her brother’s, were wet and tear tracks made two distinct lines down her cheeks. “What are you doing up?” she asked with a hiccup, frantically rubbing away her tears.

“I heard you crying.”

“You heard me?” said Kai in embarrassment. “I was trying to be quiet.”

“You were,” assured Wash. “I just have sensitive hearing. Developed after years of paranoia and a significant amount of trauma.”

“Oh. That sucks.”

“Sometimes. But sometimes it comes in handy. Like tonight.” He placed a hand against her shoulder and asked quietly, “Something’s wrong, Kai. And I would really appreciate it if you told me. I didn’t spend years waiting to gain your soulmark only to have you block our connection two days after we established it.”

Kai’s nose wrinkled. “Dude, way to guilt trip.”

“The truth can do that,” said Wash lightly.

Kai huffed and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. She didn’t step away from his contact, but kept sending uncertain glances down the corridor. Wash guided her down the hall and she asked in bewilderment, “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere a little more private.”

There was a smaller training room in the building next to the barracks. It was empty, as Wash predicted, and he flicked on the lights. He sat down on the mat-covered floor and she joined him, legs tucked under her. She pulled on the ends of her hair, which cascaded well pass her shoulders. She didn’t speak and Washington didn’t force her. He merely studied her, from the crease between her eyes and the nervous way her fingers moved.

The minutes stretched on until Kai suddenly turned to him and blurted, “Do you want me here?”

Shock spread across Washington’s face. “Of course I do!”

“Are you sure?” asked Kai dubiously. “I’m not, like, messing up the dynamics?”

“Kai, you’re part of our dynamics. How can you mess them up?”

“I just…I saw you guys this morning,” said Kai softly, sorrow on her features. “Carolina wrestling Dex to the ground. The rest of you laughing. Having the time of your life. And I realized everything that I missed. Everything I wasn’t a part of. That it didn’t matter that I wasn’t here. That it doesn’t matter that I’m here now.”

“Kaikaiana, that’s not true,” said Wash sharply. He leaned forwards and seized her hands, pulling them away from her hair. “We’re beyond happy to have you here with us. You know it. You _felt_ it. I’m pretty sure we spent yesterday hardly able to move or think because of the soul-bond we all shared.”

Kai’s lips wobbled and her voice broke as she said, “Then why did you leave me alone for so long?”

She dissolved into sobs, her tears starting anew, and she tried to pull away. But Washington only increased his grip, yanking her into his lap as his arms circled tightly around her. She struggled for a minute before giving up, sagging into his chest as she wept.

Wash held her, rocking her slightly, his chin tucked against her hair. He let her cry it out, fingers stroking against her arms. Eventually she went silent and he tilted her chin up so their eyes met. “I’m sorry,” said Wash wretchedly. “I’m so sorry.”

He knew what she was feeling, perhaps better than anyone, with the exception of Carolina. He knew what it was like to be abandoned and forgotten. Though none of them had ever intended to make her feel that way, they had, and she was suffering.

“I don’t want to be alone again,” whispered Kai, clinging to the front of his grey T-shirt.

“You won’t,” said Wash fiercely. “I promise you, the Reds and Blues never meant to leave you for so long. _I_ didn’t mean to leave you for so long. But events just went to complete and utter hell.”

“Not always,” said Kai bitterly. “Command didn’t reassign me to Rat’s Nest like Caboose. They didn’t even invite me to come to Valhalla when they gave you guys new bases.”

“Command is an asshole,” said Wash darkly. “As for Valhalla…” He flinched. “I suppose there’s no excuses. We could have sent for you. We _should_ have. And that’s unforgivable.”

Kai gave a pitiful sniff. “Nah. Unforgivable is when that tramp took my spot on the cheerleading squad in high school. It was a real dick move, though.” In a softer voice, she said, “You didn’t leave me behind because I was unwanted?”

“Definitely not,” said Wash strongly. “We were just…neglectful. Doc can tell you a thing or two about that.”

Kai glanced up at him, at the regret and guilt weighing heavily on his features. She let down her emotional barrier and felt his remorse in waves.

And his love.

It enveloped her and she moved her arms to wrap tightly around his neck. She gave a startled yip when Wash stood up, easily keeping her body against his as he carried her out of the room. “You know, our soulmates taught me a trick when it comes to sleepless nights.”

“Well, I can’t sleep, so bring it on,” said Kai with a tired smile.

Wash brought her to his room, where the door swished open, revealing the slumbering forms of Tucker, Doc and Caboose. He sunk into his bed and lowered his hand to rest over the grey handprint on her upper back. Kai squeaked as her soul gave a strong, pleasant surge and pumpkin pie filled her senses. Her hand immediately fell to her soulmark on Wash’s body and he gave a soft groan of contentment as their souls entwined.

Kai’s father had left her. Kai’s mother was a fleeting presence in her life, disconnected and more attached to alcohol than her own children. As a child, she had so looked forward to meeting the soulmates whose marks covered her body. Desperately hoping that they wouldn’t leave her and her brother. And it happened, she met all of them, and those years in Blood Gulch were the best ones of her life.

Then they left her. Just like everyone else in her life.

Washington cupped the back of her neck and pulled her closer, his legs falling overtop hers. _‘I promise you, K, we’re not going to leave you. They missed you just as much as you missed them. Carolina and I couldn’t wait to meet you. I’m sure Kimball and Doyle weren’t too pleased with all the requests we made to contact you, but we had to. We needed to hear your voice.’_

Kai could feel how much she was missed, see all the memories in which they spoke about her and longed for her. She tucked her face against chest and let his love and warmth smooth over her. He felt horrible for all she had been through. For leaving her behind, however unintentionally.

_‘It’s okay,’_ she thought. _‘I’m with you losers now. You’ll just have to make it up to me.’_

Happiness replaced her sadness, and a strong relief that they hadn’t left her because they didn’t want her. That they were genuinely excited to have her back. Wash marvelled in how quickly she forgave and forgot.

_‘I wish I was as gracious as you. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to hold a grudge.’_

_‘Grudges are for people I hate. When people I love wronged me, I just beat them up. But you’re an ex-Freelancer who has done some crazy crap, and I am not that stupid, so I’ll just be really snarky.’_

Her love met his own with just as much ferocity, even though they hadn’t known each other for very long. Wash closed his eyes and relished in it, in just how powerful his bonds were, and only when Kai drifted off did he allow himself to fall asleep.

…

When Kai opened her eyes, she was greeted with the sight of her eleven soulmates, who were arranged around the room in various positions. Everyone, with the obvious exception of Lopez and Church, were still in their pajamas.

“Hi,” she greeted. “What’s up, creepers?”

“Not much,” said Grif flippantly. He was sitting the closest to her and he gave her nose a hard pinch. “You told me nothing was wrong.”

“Yeah. I lied.”

“No crap.”

“But I feel much better now.”

She was still wrapped in Wash’s arms, though she had rolled over on her side during the night. She tilted her head back to see blue eyes staring at her in amusement and she gave his chin a quick kiss. When Wash barely reacted to the open affection Tucker gave a loud snort.

“And to think, it was only a few years ago when you practically punched us when we tried to touch you.”

Wash rolled his eyes. “I didn’t try to hit you.”

“Right. Sorry. You just took off running.”

“But he likes hugs now, so that’s good,” said Caboose cheerfully. “He doesn’t run anymore.”

“Give me a break. I had some things to work through.”

Simmons raised a brow. “Carolina let us hug her pretty quickly, and she went through basically the same crap.”

“I was desperate for love,” said Carolina with a blank expression.

**“That’s tremendously sad,”** said Lopez bluntly.

Kai promptly translated and Donut looped his arms around Carolina, resting his head against her shoulder. “There’s lots of love to go around,” he chirped.

Carolina set a hand against his hip as she glowered at Lopez. “You may be a robot, but I can still kick your ass.”

**“Duly noted.”**

Doc leaned over the edge of his top bunk, one arm hanging over the side. “Usually it’s Wash who needs help sleeping.”

“Not this time,” said Wash, letting go of Kai and sitting up against his pillows. He sent a warm glance towards his soulmates and he added, “Though I did utilize the tactic you’ve used on me to help me sleep.”

“Now that’s what I call character growth,” said Church with a laugh.

Tucker wiggled his eyebrows. “Does that mean I can kiss you?”

Wash narrowed his eyes, studying Tucker’s expression, which bordered on mischievous rather than lascivious. “Are you being gross?”

“I mean, I have jokes in mind.”

“Wash likes kisses,” informed Caboose obliviously. “But not in public.”

“Such growth,” said Church dramatically.

“Shut up,” snapped Wash, feeling his cheeks colour slightly.

“How the mighty have fallen,” said Sarge with a solemn shake of his head.

“Riiiiight,” drawled Grif. “Because I totally did not see Simmons snuggling with you last night. Ow!”

Sarge’s foot connected with his ribcage and he sprawled on the ground, rasping in pain. Simmons sent him a bewildered look. “But…we were.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean he has to broadcast it,” said Sarge gruffly.

“We’re soulmates, you moron,” hissed Grif, hauling himself back into a sitting position. “We already know how soft you can be! It wasn’t a secret!”

“Did ya just call me soft?!”

Grif launched himself behind Lopez, hands gripping the robot’s legs. “Don’t come near me, you senile old man!”

Tucker gripped Sarge’s arm and pulled him back down to his bunk, grinning as the man bristled. “Aw, don’t worry, Sarge. We won’t tell anyone.”

“I don’t know. I might,” said Kai with a smirk.

Grif gave a proud smile. “Blackmail. I taught you well.”

As Sarge exploded with threats, and everyone else laughed at his steadily reddening face, Wash felt a contentment that went bone-deep. Affection, warmth, ire and amusement flowed through their soul-links, twisting together into a bubbly ball in the pit of his stomach.

It was because of them he had a second chance at life. It was because of them he was able to love again. It was because of them he was able to _live_ again.

It was because of them he no longer had sleepless nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I'm writing this series mostly for my benefit because no one else is so I'll fill the void. But if you're reading and enjoying my self-indulgent mush I appreciate it!


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